


your heart is warmer than a fire's storm

by genderfluid-crowley (feathershadow)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Descriptions of Injury, in which Aziraphale is still in the bookshop when Crowley runs in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 19:57:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19325044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathershadow/pseuds/genderfluid-crowley
Summary: Credit for the original idea goes to @wing-weaver-z on tumblr!





	your heart is warmer than a fire's storm

**Author's Note:**

> Credit for the original idea goes to @wing-weaver-z on tumblr!

“You foul fiend! In league with the forces of darkness!”

Aziraphale turns around from the telephone to see Shadwell bursting through his door and glaring at him. “Sergeant Shadwell?”

“You monster! Seducing women to do your evil will.”

Aziraphale frowns. “Oh, I think perhaps you’ve got the wrong shop.”

“You are possessed by a demon and I will exorcise you with bell, book, and candle.”

He’s growing concerned now, and walks toward Shadwell with his hand up in front of him protectively. “Yes, er, fine. But, please, keep away from the circle. It’s - it’s still powered up.”

Shadwell looks around for something, seems to find it, and crosses the room. “Bell.” He dings the bell sitting on a bookshelf.

“I’m honestly not a demon. I - I don’t know what you think you saw, but-”

“Book!” Shadwell seems very determined in his endeavor, as he holds up a book for Aziraphale to see.

Aziraphale sighs and crosses over to stand in front of the circle. He stands in front of Mr. Shadwell, grounds his feet on the floor, and musters up all the firmness he can find into his voice to say, “Mr. Shadwell. It really isn’t safe for you to be in here right now, and I think it’s time you were getting on with your day.” When that doesn’t seem to have an effect on the man currently digging a lighter out of his pocket, he sighs again and pushes him toward the door.

“Hey! What’d’you think you’re doing, laddie?” Mr. Shadwell shouts as he puts up quite a fight, but Aziraphale manages to wrestle him all the way back to the front door of the shop.

“I do apologize, sir, but it’s for your own good.” Aziraphale shoves him back out onto the stoop and slams the door behind him. He sighs in relief, but then notices a candle, tipped over by the gusts of wind from the storm outside, rolling over to a stray piece of paper and catching it on fire. He watches in horror as the flame grows and spreads to the wooden shelf holding the paper. “No! Nonononono, oh dear no, I can’t have a fire in here!”

In a panic, the only thought running through Aziraphale’s head is, _The books! I need to save the books!_ He hesitates for a moment, then runs to the back room where he keeps his books of prophecy and where he left _Agnes Nutter_ sitting open on his desk. He dodges past the spreading flames and almost makes it to the doorway when a creaking noise behind him betrays the movement of a falling bookshelf. The last thing he sees before he’s knocked unconscious is the flames engulfing the store around him.

                                                                                               ------

Crowley bursts through the door of the bookshop, snapping it closed behind him, and screams out for his best friend through the darkness and the roar of the flames.

“Aziraphale! Where the Heaven are you, you idiot?”

His mind is racing and he’s spinning around in a blind panic, straining his eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of his angel, somewhere, anywhere, to know that he’s alive.

“AZIRAPHALE!” he shouts again, louder and more desperate this time.

A faint groan comes from the back of the shop, almost too quiet to hear. In a flash, Crowley is there, looking for the source.

“Crowley… are-are you there?”

He would recognize that voice anywhere. A flood of relief washes over him, replaced by terror when his eyes finally adjust to the smoke and he processes the sight in front of him.

Aziraphale is lying on the ground, trapped by a fallen bookshelf that is all but crushing him. In the celestial plane, Crowley can see his wings charred and spread out from his back at angles that can’t be natural. He’s covered in soot and his face is all twisted up in pain as he looks up at Crowley.

Crowley crouches down and heaves the bookshelf off of him, and suddenly he’s on his knees bent over his angel, checking if he’s okay, and Aziraphale is lying on the ground, bruised and battered and sore but okay because his demon is there, he didn’t leave, he came to save him, and they’re holding each other in their arms and trying not to fall apart.

Crowley holds Aziraphale’s face in his hands, checking him over, and looks in his eyes. “Angel! Are you okay? Where are you hurt?” He won’t say out loud what he’s thinking: _I shouldn’t have left you. It’s my fault you got hurt. I should have been there. It’s all my fault._

His thoughts are interrupted by Aziraphale pulling him in closer, until their faces are only a few inches apart. Aziraphale smiles weakly up at him and says, “It’s okay. I forgive you,” and good Lord, Crowley can never resist those round, beautiful eyes, and he leans forward into Aziraphale until their lips meet. They melt into each other, Crowley leaning over Aziraphale, as they forget the rest of the world and the bookshop burning all around them.

                                                                                                    ------

Crowley never thought their first kiss would be like this. In his mind, it would have been while dropping Aziraphale off after an evening out for dinner, or sitting on a blanket in a field looking at the stars together, or walking through the park, arm in arm. Still, he thinks, he wouldn’t trade this for the world. Aziraphale is warm and soft, and he has one hand on the back of Crowley’s head and the other across his shoulder blades, pulling him in close, and it’s everything Crowley could have hoped for and more.

A minute passes, then two, and Crowley realizes that the warmth isn’t coming just from Aziraphale but also from the flames all around them. He remembers where they are, remembers that they’re in danger and need to get out of the bookshop. He pulls away from Aziraphale, despite his entire body protesting. “Come on, angel, let’s get out of here.”

He extends a hand to help Aziraphale, who groans in pain as he sits up. Crowley puts an arm around him, supporting his weight as they stand up and make their way through the flames to the door. He pushes it open, guides Aziraphale outside to the Bentley, and gently helps him into the passenger seat. Aziraphale closes his eyes and falls asleep as Crowley drives to his apartment and tries to keep his eyes on the road.

                                                                                                   ------

Aziraphale wakes up on a couch in Crowley’s apartment to the sound of his entire body crying out in pain. He tries to sit up, but winces as the bruises and burns on his skin rub against the couch. He puts his head back down and is about to doze off again when he hears something shift behind him.

Crowley, slumped in a chair next to the couch with his chin in his hand, wakes up from his own nap. “Angel! How do you feel?”

Aziraphale groans and turns his head to face Crowley. “Oh, I’m alright, I suppose. Could you-” he coughs, and his lungs feel like someone has dropped a tinful of thumbtacks into them, “-fetch me a glass of water, perhaps?”

Crowley nods, and there’s a certain look in his eyes, one that Aziraphale can’t quite place, but he stands up, stretches, and leaves the room. Aziraphale’s heart pangs. _Oh,_ he thinks, _he must have fallen asleep, sitting there for Heaven knows how long._

Crowley comes back a moment later. In one hand, he’s carrying a glass of water, and in the other, a damp washcloth. He sits down in the chair, scoots it closer to the couch, and hands Aziraphale the water. Aziraphale drinks it, and it soothes the pain in his chest just a little bit.

Crowley reaches out his hand. “Give me your arm, angel.” Aziraphale complies. Crowley puts the damp washcloth on it and starts gently patting the burns and scrapes. Aziraphale tries not to gasp from the cold on his skin, but he can’t help notice the warmth where Crowley’s fingers are touching his wrist. He can’t help looking up at Crowley and maybe blushing a little bit. And he can’t help noticing the strange expression back on the demon’s face again.

“Crowley, dear.”

“Hmm?” Crowley is avoiding his gaze.

“Are you alright?”

“I just pulled you out of a burning bookshop and you’re asking _me_ if _I’m_ okay?”

“Well, I don’t know, you just seem as though something is bothering you.”

“I’m fine.” Crowley gestures for his other arm.

Aziraphale shifts so he’s lying on his side and gives Crowley his other arm. He decides not to push the matter.

The two of them sit silently for a bit, Crowley using the washcloth to soothe Aziraphale’s wounds, Aziraphale relaxing into his touch. Neither mentions the kiss they shared only hours before - at least, Aziraphale assumes it’s been a matter of hours, but he doesn’t know for sure.

Finally, when there’s no sign of Crowley saying anything, Aziraphale speaks. “I suppose I should thank you for saving me, again.”

“Don’t,” Crowley cautions him.

Aziraphale ignores him and continues. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up. There would have been an awful lot of paperwork, getting discorporated, and I don’t even want to _imagine_ how cross the quartermaster would be if I had to get a new body just before Armageddon. They’re all running around four times as busy as usual, you know, preparing for war and all….” He trails off when he notices Crowley staring at him, mouth agape.

“Discorporated? You mean it wasn’t hellfire?”

“No, it was just regular fire. Did you think it was?”

“Maybe.” Crowley’s voice cracks. “I thought I’d lost you for good.” He shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts, then finishes cleaning the wounds on Aziraphale’s arms and says, “How are your wings?”

Aziraphale sits up on the couch and unfurls his wings. They’re still covered in soot, and some of  the feathers are missing, but they look much better than they did before. “They seem to have sorted themselves out,” he says. “I suppose that’s a good sign. With any luck, I’ll be back in tip-top shape soon enough, and we can get back to stopping Armageddon.” He’s purposefully changing the topic, since Crowley looks so obviously uncomfortable. “Oh! That reminds me! I know where the Antichrist is. I figured it out from the book that the young woman left beh… oh, dear.” Aziraphale remembers what happened to his bookstore. _No,_ he thinks, his stomach sinking. _I’ve lost all my books_.

“Aziraphale?”

There are tears welling up in his eyes. “I’ve just realized that - that it would have been burned up, along with everything else in my shop.”

Crowley’s eyes go wide and he almost grins. “I almost forgot to tell you! I saw that book when I came in looking for you, and I grabbed it. I have it! It’s safe. Practically unharmed.” He jumps up, leaves the room, and returns a moment later with a very battered but very much not-burned-down copy of _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch_. “Right here! Good as new. In fact, while you mention it, I did manage to save a few other books as well. There were a handful scattered around the floor of the shop.”

Aziraphale feels himself go giddy, not just because the Agnes Nutter book is okay, but because _Crowley thought to save his books._ He smiles up at the demon and takes the book from his hands. “Oh, thank you, my dear! Thank you so much. That means the world to me.”

The words slip out before he has time to think them over, and now he’s blushing at Crowley and Crowley is staring back, with the same odd look in his eyes as before, except this time Aziraphale thinks he knows what it is. And Aziraphale sets the book down, and reaches his hands out for Crowley’s, but Crowley is already moving toward him, and the demon sits down on the couch next to his angel and slides his arms around his waist and they’re looking into each other’s eyes. Aziraphale finally finds the word for the expression in Crowley’s eyes. _It’s vulnerability_ , he thinks. And he pulls Crowley in for another kiss.

                                                                                                    ------

Crowley has never let himself be this vulnerable before. First the moment in the bookshop, and now here, on the couch in his apartment. He’d been hoping not to let that fact show in his face, but he doesn’t think he was successful, given Aziraphale’s prodding a few minutes before. But as he holds Aziraphale in his arms and feels the angel’s lips on his own and a hand cupping his jaw, he decides that vulnerable isn’t such a bad thing to be, after all.


End file.
